A period post for this (and each month’s) fat tuesday.

Gents, this is what I like to call a Period Post. As in a discussion about my soon-to-be bleeding vagina.

Can’t handle that? Maybe today’s post isn’t for you.

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And to you, gentle-mouthed lady creatures, a good amount of foul words will also be used today.

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Still here? Don’t say you weren’t warned.

This morning, I woke up extra groggy, a real whatthefucktimeisit/whythehellisthatthingstillbeeping godsend of a morning. After a half-dozen-or-so snoozes, I finally threw myself out of bed and lumbered into the bathroom to commence my morning routine. Upon shoving my contacts into my eyes (It’s actually a blessing I have poor vision/am nearly blind without contacts, or my eyes would be in a half-closed stoner state until mid-morning.), I realized my face was looking a bit Michelin Man-like. So naturally, I jumped on the scale.

Somehow, in the span of two days, I’d gained four pounds.

Four pounds. Four pounds in two days. FOURPOUNDSINTWODAYS.

I’m way less body-image obsessed than I used to be in a previous life, but I’m still conscious enough to know that gaining four pounds in two days isn’t natural and/or an overall good thing.

And then my brain had a fight with itself.

Common sense: Hannah, you had way too much fiber yesterday, including vegetarian chili and full serving of lima beans. And you’re about to start your period. You’re bloated, it’s water weight. It happens. Getthefuck over it.

My real self: OHMYGOD ARE YOU KIDDING ME? ARE you KIDDING ME? I SO TOLD YOU TO CHILLAX ON THE M&MS AND CHIPS AHOY AND CABERNET, BUT DID YOU LISTEN? AND SERIOUSLY, YOU ONLY MADE IT TWENTY MINUTES ON THE TREADMILL LAST NIGHT? I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHO YOU ARE ANYMORE.

I hopped off the scale and tried to put it out of my mind. You’ll eat super healthy today, ‘k? Totes make up for it. And go to spin class after work. You’ll be fine, you got this.

Then I put on my jeans, which had been getting a little loose in the waist lately.

Not so much today.

I immediately began dreaming of the frozen pizza and Oreos I’d be having for dinner. I mean, fuck it – might as well live up the chubbiness, right?

And you know, if this only came around once a year, fine. FINE, I could deal with it. But as my Tri-Sprintec regulates, every fourth Wednesday means a new menstrual cycle (And not to mention, MENstrual? MENstruation? Seriously, guys? Do you have to put your name on EVERYTHING?), thus every fourth Tuesday means a new Fat Hannah.

In lamenting my pre-endometrial lining shedding symptoms, I received the general “Ohhh, you look fine” commentary from an obviously not-currently-bleeding female friend. Which obviously doesn’t, you know, help.

So I decided a Flow Flow Chart (see what I did there?) was in order. Ladies, feel free to use this with your penis-clad, between cycles and/or post-menopausal friends.